


Icecream Sandwhich Club

by kjstark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjstark/pseuds/kjstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, the thing’s this: Rhodey’s made a lot of poor decisions in his almost 22 years of existence before. The first one he can come up with is ever giving back Sam that basketball when they first met. The second one was saying “yes” to him when he asked if they could let Bucky live with them. The third one, however, was ever changing.</p><p>The third one, right now, was letting Sam use them as test dummies for his bartending skills on a Wednesday night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

>   * This story’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a [while](http://buckybear.co.vu/post/115099211483/team-not-sidekicks-au-college-life-in-which) [now](http://buckybear.co.vu/post/115539242488/i-just-want-to-write-about-rhodeys-fixation-with).My desire grew from two main reasons: 1) There’s next-to-no fanfiction with Rhodey or Sam, or both, as main characters, that’s something I needed to fix. 2) There’s also rarely something that’s just sloppy, happy, and/or funny out there. It’s very hard to find a fic where Bucky isn’t going through depression or pain. That I also needed to fix.   
> 
>   * This story is on its entirety **plotless**. Like, seriously, all this story is about is Rhodey, Sam and Bucky going through stuff, hopefully different stuff, on every chapter as I go. 
>   * It’s going to be a very 30-Day-Challenge kind of dynamic thing. (My plan is to take prompts from all those ‘List of AUs I really want’ posts on tumblr, and sometimes, why not, suggestions from you guys)
>   * Even though these three are the main characters, I still want to explore a lot of people. A lot of faves. 
>   * There will be romantic ships, eventually. I don’t want to give away but I certainly don’t want to make you guys sit through all of this to read a NOTP. So ships that are _not_ going to be explored: Romantic!SteveBucky, Romantic!SteveSam and Romantic!TonyRhodey --- I have ships of my own for them, but from the very beginning they’re not going to start. (except for SamRiley)
>   * This is meant for you as go-to fic when you wanna feel happy again after all the angst you’ve been reading. This is meant for me as something to explore different stories, to develop my writing, but most importantly to write about these characters that are most of the times ignored (I’m only talking about Rhodey and Sam). If you guys want to suggest something, if you guys want me to introduce a character--- I’m all ears. 
> 


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This chapter was beta’d by the awesome [Lauren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MackinzieScott/profile/) who I’d never thank enough. Any remaining mistake is only my fault. 

Bucky let his jacket fall to the floor loudly, throwing his keys on the bowl on the living room’s tiny wooden table. With a sigh, he fell, face-first, into the couch.

“This couch,” he muttered, drawing circles on the cushions, “I’m gonna marry it.” He added, almost pouting ~~.~~

“That’s not fair, I proposed first,” came Rhodey’s voice out of the kitchen, cereal bowl in one hand, _Pride and Prejudice_ in the other. “Move,” he ordered, poking Bucky’s legs with his knee.

Bucky groaned, burying his face deeper into the couch.

“I had a long day, please,” he pleaded.

Rhodey was already kicking Bucky’s legs off the couch to let himself crash on it. Bucky turned around from lying on his face to lying on his back, only to rest his legs on Rhodey’s lap, closing his eyes.

“Bucky,” Rhodey whined when the space that was supposed to be for his cereal got occupied by Bucky’s feet.

“I had a long day, Rhodes,” he complained, opening his eyes to glare. “We opened a new flavor and everybody’s crazy to try it, but turns out a lot of people don’t like cinnamon and they still get mad at you.”

Working at Shield Coffee had seemed like an easy task a year ago when he began. A friend of a friend had told him about the job and since he was starting college he knew that getting a job was a must, he couldn’t keep surviving on burnt French toast for the rest of his life and he was certainly tired of asking his parents for money. At that moment, 20 year old Bucky would’ve taken anything; the fact that it was a coffee shop job instead of cleaning public bathrooms made him truly happy back then.

Now, it makes Bucky, a year older and somewhat more careless, consider if he should just sell a kidney in order to pay all their condo’s debts just so he can quit that damn place.

It wasn’t completely awful, but today was a bad day. A really long, bad day.

“Where’s Sam, anyway?” Bucky asked. The sun was a dull shade of orange-pink outside the window.

“He’s in a job interview,” Rhodey answered, dropping his bowl and book to the table. “Alright, take your shoes off,” he told him. Bucky kicked his boots off and re-settled.  “You know, I realized I’m the only one in this place that does nothing, right?” he said, taking Bucky’s socks off.

“You got your stupid academy PT’s four days per week,” Bucky replied, adjusting his neck to look better at Rhodey. “Nobody’s holding anything against you, dumbass,” he added. Rhodey shrugged.

“Well, I don’t need to give you hell either. You can marry the couch,” he said as he went to massage Bucky’s left foot.

Bucky waited about three minutes before he spoke again, “So, at least tell me your day wasn’t as bad?”

Rhodey shrugged. His day… _was._

ROTC’s educational program had been Rhodey’s most exciting plan through all his high school years. There was little other stuff he spent his time being excited other than joining the military. Maybe photography, but he’s not even sure.

He realized that’s what he wanted to do with his life somewhere around the age of 13. His mother had sadly asked why, his father had smiled proudly, his sister told him he was an idiot and that she wouldn’t go to his funeral and Rhodey held her and told her she could keep his room.

He realized mechanical engineering was his thing somewhere around the age of 16. Because his father gave him a monster of a truck and he managed to turn into something he would actually take a girl on a date on. As things turned out, he did take girl on dates but he also began fixing bikes with Tyler, and found out then that he liked guys too.

He met Sam the end of that year.

Sam introduced him to Bucky, four years later, when the both of them started college – Rhodey already a semester ahead of them.

At first Bucky didn’t like Rhodey, and the feeling was very much reciprocated. But when Sam had a car accident the summer of last year they found an anchor in the other.

And on from there it became a three Musketeers kind of deal. All for one and one for all. 

“Major Johnsson keeps giving us hell, and my Advanced Physics class has this superstar kid that makes everyone either hate him or love him, I don’t know, I’m still trying to figure him out,” Rhodey said, raising his eyebrows. “Dream’s still on,” he finished, grinning at Bucky.

“I was about to tell you to quit, dedicate yourself to photography. I can sell a kidney and Sam can become a prostitute,” he said, amused. “Seriously, our lives got dull and tiring, maybe we should change things up a bit? I can take art class and become a professional tattooer,” Bucky raised his eyebrows at Rhodey, who just cracked a laugh. They were almost reaching summer, and thank God, because life was making it harder to breathe some days more than others.

“I think we’re good, though,” Rhodey said, after giving a dramatic pause as if he was considering it.

“You’re probably right, you’re an awful photographer, Sam’s too emotionally attached to be a sex worker, and God knows I can’t draw for shit. We’re just having a little money issue,”

“And boring, tiring days issue,” Rhodey added. Bucky raised a finger, as Rhodey went for his other foot.

“I got it! We start drug dealing,” he suggested, nodding slowly. “Become underground criminals. I’ll be called something cold and distant, you know lethal, like… the Winter Soldier,” Rhodey was loudly laughing by this point. “I’m serious!” he yelled, as Sam unlocked the front door and went in. 

“About what?”

“We’re gonna start drug dealing because you’d be a terrible hooker,” Rhodey said, pressing Bucky’s toes.

“Oh, that means your foot masseuse career went nowhere too?” Sam asked, pointing at Rhodey’s hands with his right hand, holding three bags in the other.

“And photographer,” Bucky added, turning around to Sam’s direction, who was going into the kitchen to drop the stuff he bought. “Jesus, you’re such a failure,” he told Rhodey then, Rhodey pinched his pinky toe and Bucky drew his feet away. “Anyways, we were discussing codenames, you know, to protect our real identities. What do you wanna be called?” he asked, sitting.

“Falcon!” Sam shouted, from the kitchen.

“But I thought that was your porn star name?” Rhodey mused, taking his bowl of already musty Captain Crunch cereal. 

“I thought that was your dick’s name,” Bucky said instead.

“Yes to both,” Sam agreed, coming out. “But whatever, my dear friends, we’re not going to need to sell our souls to the devil just yet. I got the job!” he said, excitedly. Bucky and Rhodey whistled for him.

“Wait, what’s the job about?” Rhodey wondered.

“Drum roll,” Sam whispered. Bucky adjusted on the couch to tap on the wooden table, repeatedly, for a full minute. “Bartender,” he finished solemnly.

Sam Wilson was capable of many things. Sam Wilson was capable of naming over 100 different kinds of birds. He was capable of turning the person with most trust issues he’s ever known into one of his best friends in a span of two months. Sam Wilson is capable of sitting through a full, three-days marathon of How I Met Your Mother as much as he can sit for a month watching all the twelve seasons of CSI.

Sam Wilson is the most honest, the most fun, the most kind man to ever grace at least the state of New York. To Bucky’s eyes he was more than often a fallen angel. To Rhodey’s eyes he was God’s greatest gift to them. Sam Wilson is a Psychology Major, an active Tumblr blogger, and the only reason he doesn’t seek a political career is because he doesn’t like lying to big amounts of people.

Sam Wilson is many things. A bartender is _not_ one.

“So, I’ll summon Satan,” Bucky said, after Sam’s confession, all in dark humor, as he stood up.

“I’ll help,” Rhodey followed.

“Oh, come on! I can do this!” Sam swore. Rhodey and Bucky shared a look, their look. “Seriously, I saw some tutorials on Youtube, and I was talking to Ben? Yeah, he said not to worry. People only want two things: alcohol and someone to talk to,” he told them, using his fingers to count the things as he said them. “I figured, what the hell? This might as well serve me as practice,” he shrugged. “What’s the wor-”

“Don’t say it,” Bucky cut him, raising a finger. “In movies, nothing good happens after that. Next thing you know, you have a serial killer at your table baring his soul to you.”

“Why would a serial killer bare his soul to anyone?” Rhodey asked, frowning at him.

“I’ve seen it!” he refuted.

“You need to stop believing everything you see on TV, Bucky,” Rhodey muttered.

“Whatever!” Sam said, loudly. “Are you going to help me or what?”

“Help you? With what?”

Sam moved his head to the side, motioning for them to come with him to the kitchen. There were all different kinds of alcoholic beverages. Many flavors, many colors, many alcohol degrees. Sam stood in one end of the counter, the rest of them stood in the opposite.

“Well, gentlemen. Let me show what I’m made of,” Sam said, rubbing his own hands.

Now, the thing’s this: Rhodey’s made a lot of poor decisions in his almost 22 years of existence before. The first one he can come up with is ever giving back Sam that basketball when they first met. The second one was saying “yes” to him when he asked if they could let Bucky live with them. The third one, however, was ever changing.

The third one, right now, was letting Sam use them as test dummies for his bartending skills on a Wednesday night.

 

* * *

 

“Absolutely fucking stupid,” was Rhodey’s comeback thought every time his entire head fucking _throbbed_.

Two bottles down of green stuff plus about 30 shots of Vodka with different colors, and at 3 am they decided: as a matter of fact Sam was a great bartender, Rhodey’s codename for if they ever became masters in the New York mafia was going to be War Machine, and that whoever got married first between Sam and Rhodey had to have a Bucky room for him to grow old in.

Later, at 6:45 am, Rhodey contemplated committing a double homicide, but decided against it. With both Bucky and Sam gone, there was literally no one else to help him hide the bodies.

His annoyance turned into hate as he stepped out of his room to find Sam completely and totally _fine_ and _ready to live his day_.

“That bad, huh?” Sam asked, flipping pancakes. Rhodey raised his hand, silently, slowly, and placed a single finger above his lips, asking Sam to shut the hell up. “Ok, don’t hate me, I cooked you breakfast,” Sam continued.

From the bathroom down the hall came a loud gagging noise, followed by spiting, and then Bucky was cursing in what he learned in Russian on some website, because apparently insulting Mrs. Wilson in English was not enough anymore.

“I have no idea what he’s saying but I fully agree with everything,” Rhodey said, throwing shades on his face and shutting the door, right after taking Sam’s bag of breakfast goodies.

He reached his classroom quickly, he entered the dark room with his sunglasses still on and walked to sit on the upper row – where it was even more dark—and he sank, as Professor Phillips talked about the history of aerodynamics.

“You know, I thought you’d know better by now than to let yourself get dragged by Sam on his silly shenanigans,” no other than Carol Danvers said, sitting next to him. “Or was it Bucky’s fault this time?” she wondered, biting her lower lip.

“I wanna say it was Sam’s but I’m pretty sure Bucky called my bluff at some point when I tried to leave, so they’re both to blame, honestly,” Rhodey said, rising his head from his self-made-with-his-arms nest, and then hiding inside it again. Carol laid her fingernails on the back of Rhodey’s neck and stroked.

“Never challenge James Rhodes,” she muttered.

“Never,” Rhodey agreed, muffled voice by his jacket.

They stayed like that for some time and just as Rhodey was about to fall asleep to the sound of Professor Phillips voice on things he already knew and Carol’s petting, she spoke again.

“I really hate to kick a man when he’s down, but I need your help,” she asked, her eyes looking for him as he raised again, head-throb and all.

Rhodey gave her sleepy eyes that she couldn’t see through his shades, so he proceeded to just raise his eyebrows.

“Do you remember my friend Jessica?” she continued. Rhodey really didn’t have time, or better yet head, for this so he just nodded. “Well, she has this thing on her dorms microwave, I don’t know she keeps saying she sets the timer and then the thing ends up doing whatever it wants, like maybe we’re finally being dominated by machines, who knows—“

“You want me to go fix it?” Rhodey cut her before his head exploded.

“Pretty please,” she added, smiling.

Rhodey could barely catch it through his lenses but he knew Carol’s smile by memory. All with that of her being Rhodey’s biggest, most massive high school crush in the history of high school crushes. Rhodey smiled back faintly.

“I know I should’ve asked you first, last week’s PT’s were hell. Captain Underwood has something for people suffering,” she muttered, horrified.

Carol was in Rhodey’s wing, so they had a lot of the same training sessions, the same piloting classes, and they were in the same Evolution of Aerospace Studies program.

Carol was, for lack of a better term, Rhodey’s soulmate. Soulmates, Rhodey’s learned, don’t always actually end up with you. He’s still not sure how he feels, but he knows his head hurts even more just of thinking about it.

“Anyways, she was talking about it, and she sounded so desperate, and it slipped, like, ‘I have this friend who can fix it’. You don’t hate me, do you?” she asked, because Rhodey sighed deeply into his nest, and was being next to not-talkative.

“No, of course not, are you crazy? I’m offended you didn’t think I’d help you,” Rhodey replied, in his inside voice, he sat up straight and took off his glasses for Carol to really see him.

“You just need me to shut up before your head goes ‘booom’?” She asked, with a shy smile.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” Rhodey muttered, eyes closed before Carol pinched his knee and then gave him a kiss on the cheek before storming down to her seat. His day didn’t get better than that.

* * *

 

“Bucky! Are you kidding me?!” Jane shouted, startling him. “I don’t care who messed you up this time, table 3, 5 and 6 need their orders get off your ass!” she said, pushing him away with a tray full of coffee.

He managed to get the orders in all the right places and drive his body back to the counter without throwing up or falling apart.

“Partying this hard on a week day? You just like making your life a living hell, don’t you, Barnes?” Darcy said, chewing gum.

“Did you get my order?” he asked instead.

“Dark coffee and a painkiller, thanks for choosing us,” she said handing him the mug, proud pouty fuchsia lips curving into a smile. Bucky whispered “thank you” and drank the warm drink.

In Three or four more chances later, Jane had to literally drag him from a place to another one, but by the fifth time, she ~~g~~ ave up.

“You know what? Stay here!” she yelled.

Jane was something like 5’3” but her personality really stood out. Her father had left her the coffee shop when he passed and from there she had raised the thing as high as she could. She was an Astrophysicist major, and she was the only genius Bucky could’ve ever hoped to meet.

But she was also crazy most of the time ~~s~~.

“My name’s Bucky, what’s your order?” he said, dead. He was dead. And people were looking at him as if he was dead. Why would Jane leave her currently Dead-but-Living worker in the front line? Crazy.

But maybe something in Bucky’s brain already developed enough to set him on auto. At least when it came to coffee. Because he got 23 out of 25 orders right, and he couldn’t even tell you what time it was. That’s gotta be a skill right? _Can barely hold self standing but can get 23 different orders of coffee without messing up once?_

Jane’s creepy stalker arrived, as usual, at 10 am.

The guy was huge. No, huge was an understatement. He was… _too_ huge. Like, it made you doubt if he was even human.

He also had this crazy hot Australian accent, but he spoke as if he’d swallowed Shakespeare’s entire collection. Bucky found it very hard not to stare, Darcy found it even harder not to stare and make a comment about it. Mike was loudly just rolling his eyes and saying “I’ll go get the mop,” every damn time.

Jane was the one who got the nice end of it, of course.

Tall, nice-but-weird man being into the short, cute-but-crazy woman? This was almost Disney worthy.

When he left, Bucky’s position as the cashier was revoked. The angry Jane that started off the day was not the same blushing Jane that ignored Darcy’s comments.

When Bucky’s last customer of his shift arrived, he tried not to groan. Partly because that was rude, partly because the guy was a regular. Probably went to the same protein house Jane’s stalker went, maybe only two days behind, but he had no accent, and he wasn’t weird.

But he did intrigue Bucky in the most unsettling kinds of ways. Bucky describes himself as “casually bisexual” mostly because he wants to be a dick, but also because he doesn’t always look too much at women. But I mean it’s there, so he’s that.

Now this guy, this guy’s pretty much everything he could ever hope to stare at. More often than not, Bucky finds only wanting to keep this guy safe from bad things.

“I’m Bucky, what would you like to order?” he said, on automatic. Abercrombie smiled widely.

“Peppermint Mocha, please,” he answered.

As usual, Darcy was there with the order whenever a hot guy was involved. He would complain, but he actually loved her presence more than he’d ever admit. Bucky was ready to help Darcy have her way with this guy, and it worried him.

Abercrombie smiled at Darcy and took a sip of his drink, sighing in relief once he tasted it. He put the coffee on the counter and took his wallet out. Darcy had gone to the kitchen after staring at the guy wiping coffee off his lips and then sucking down his own thumb. If Bucky knew her a little, she was drinking water, thinking of her grandmother.

“Oh god,” the guy whispered, and it brought Bucky back.

“What’s wrong?” he almost whispered too. It made his head feel nice. Let’s all whisper too. Whisper forever.

“I brought the wrong one. I don’t have money on this one,” he told Bucky. “Oh my god, I already drank some of that,” the guy was starting to panic and Bucky was missing the quiet voice. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—I don’t – what can I—“

“Okay, okay, okay, shut up,” Bucky cut him, rubbing his fingertip on his temple. He counted to five for his head to take a breath, and guy starred him down as if he held all the answers. “You’re a regular costumer, okay? Don’t freak out. How about this? Take the coffee, go to your place thing, I don’t know, wherever you have your other wallet, and give me the money, then?”

The guy nodded along as Bucky went, but by the end of his plan, he frowned.

“That’s the thing, I have a test in about, ten minutes, and I needed the coffee to keep me up but I got this wallet, cause the other wallet got all bitten by this tiny puppy that my roommate got-”

“Okay, okay, okay, stop,” Bucky pleaded, rubbing his forehead again. “Jesus, you talk so much. Alright, how about…you go do whatever and give me the money back before my ~~s~~ hift’s over?” he offered. Abercrombie seemed to like that one better.

“Okay, when do you come out?” he asked.

“OH MY GOD, BUCKY!” Darcy yelled from the threshold that led into the back kitchen.

“Shut up! I’m not flirting!” he shouted back, turning to her. When he turned back, Abercrombie  was grinning. “Anyways, 5:30, 6pm. If you come here and I’m gone, you can still give it to that brunette in the back, who’s probably submitting you to bondage in her mind as we speak,” Bucky said, sleepily.

“I hate you, Barnes!” came from the kitchen.

“Feeling’s mutual, Lewis!” he yelled back. Bucky looked for a tiny sticky-note and a pencil. “I’m gonna write it down in case you don’t get her either. What’s your name?”

“Steve,” he answered, still smiling.

“’Steve, give money back, winky face’, there you go,” Bucky said, as he stuck it to the coffee shop billboard. “Good luck on your test thing, don’t spread the word around that we do this or people might go too crazy,” he asked, at last.

The guy, Steve, took his coffee, widened his smile, “Thank you, so much, really. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Bucky nodded at him and like that he was gone.

When Darcy smacked the back of his head, he knew he had it coming.

* * *

 

“She said what?!” Sam yelled, fixing his tie.

“She had a friend that could help her friend,” Rhodey repeated, for the fourth time.

“Did she say those exact words? The word _friend_?” Sam asked, almost frantically, as he came out of the bathroom.

“Oops, got friendzoned,” Bucky said, combing his hair back.

“Now, what’s so wrong about that? You guys are in my friendzone, you don’t feel bad about that? Friendzone is cool,” Rhodey explained, shrugging.

Bucky came out of the bathroom and met Sam half-way through the way to the living room.

“Did he really just say that to us?” Sam asked Bucky, who just shrugged and cracked a laugh. “OK, difference is, neither Bucky nor I want to sleep with you,” he countered, as if he was talking to a child. Bucky crashed next to Rhodey on the couch.

“I don’t want to sleep with Carol,” Rhodey said.

Sam stared at him, blinked twice. “He hurts me. He physically wounds me,” he told Bucky, before going into the bathroom again.

“Can you like, get a friend-crush?” Bucky asked after a while. He was looking at Rhodey, but it was loud enough for Sam to hear. Rhodey took the lollipop he was sucking out, loudly.

“What?”

“I mean, can you like, meet someone and feel like you really wanna be their friend?” Bucky clarified.

Rhodey looked at him. A bit too long.

“Sam, didn’t you read something about this on that website of yours?” he shouted.

“About what?”

“About—getting a friend crush thing, you know when you wanna be friends with someone?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, from the hall, and then he was on the living room again. One sock on, one sock less. “It’s called squishes, people get them all the time. Who got a squish?”

“I met a guy this morning at the coffee shop, a regular. But here’s the tricky part: I know he’s hot, right? I know the guy has actual sexual appeal. He’s got this pretty baby blue eyes, and the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a freaking Dorito,” Bucky said.

“Damn description,” Rhodey muttered.

“He’s thought about it,” Sam added.

“Anyways,” he cut them. “I’m not interested, like at all?” Bucky opened his arms to them.

“Okay, first you don’t want to sleep with Carol and now you’re not interested in a random hot dude? Maybe you two are still drunk,” Sam said, before storming off into the bathroom again.

“I’m serious,” Bucky whined. “I feel like, in another life, he was my younger brother, it’s weird,” he finished, almost shaking.

“I agree,” Rhodey said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird.”

Bucky calculated how much time it would take them to start a cushion ~~s~~ war before Sam came out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready. Not much, but he still hit Rhodey with a cushion before Sam came out.

“Okay, let’s get to work,” he said, with an actual excited grin, as he rubbed his hands together.

* * *

_El Bar _  was something like three blocks away from their dorm, so they decided to just walk through the streets of New York going dark and dead. 

 

Sam found blissful beauty to it. A city that’s so alive in daylight, but yet can hold the quietest night. Well, at least in most places. 

“Ah, crap,” Rhodey cursed, stopping on his tracks. 

Bucky had been talking about the endless possibilities of places to hide their stash of illegal substances. Sam had the perfect comeback in his mind that out of the three of them, he was most likely the one to get killed first. It died when they both to turned to look at  Rhodey . 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.   


“I forgot my phone,” he sighed. “I need to get it, I’m getting an email for a group project and I promised I’ll reply as soon as I had it,” Sam looked at Bucky, and they both groaned, turning on their directions. “No, no, go. I’ll meet you guys there,” he commanded, pushing the air with his hands. 

Rhodey jogged his way back to the opposite side of the city. They carried on. 

The music could be heard from the other block. When they turned, they found the establishment already crowded. It was re-opening, and today was a Thursday. Sam figured he’d either go big or go home. 

_ El Bar _  wasn’t a disco. But it certainly was trying to get there. There was the actual bar: long ass table, with stools on one side and a really busy bartender on the other. Sam looked at his future co-worker. He had funny white hair and walked fast. Like full-blown Red Bull rush fast. 

When Sam did the interview, he did it three floors above this place. At his boss’s living room. So finally seeing everything was, well, he was definitely curious and wondering. 

There was a lower leveled room to his left. It separated from the actual bar via a wooden fence-like barrier. There were some small tables, with two even smaller stools. Two pool tables at the left-lower corner and what seemed to be a dance floor. The DJ’s spot was in the back. 

“Samuel,” the voice of an old man came from behind. 

Sam turned to find Abraham Erskine, his boss. He proudly shook his hand. 

“Err, this is my friend, roommate, Bucky,” Sam introduced. Bucky took his hand out and politely shook it, too. 

This man was…the closest description Sam had of him was that old man from the first Narnia movie? Professor Something? Yeah, well, this guy right there. 

He was the last person you’d think owns a bar in wild New York. He was the person you’d think owned a book store in Berlin, but that’s probably because of the accent. 

Also, if they ever needed someone for their underground marketing of illicit substances, Erskine was most likely to be their provider. 

He has that crazy-but-kind-mad-scientist vibe. 

“I’m glad you could make it in time. We’re all very busy today,” he said, smiling at them both. “But come with me, I’ll introduce you to the team,” he  said , offering his open arm to follow him to the left side. The disco side. “First the bosses: the girls,” he grinned as they walked. “This is Maria,” he said, when they reached a dark and short-haired woman carrying a tray. 

She gave them the most unimpressed smile and carried on. 

“This is Bobbi,” he said, patting a blonde, tall woman on her shoulder. She nodded at them and shook Sam’s hand.    


“Welcome,” she muttered, but then she was gone. So were they, after that. 

“That over there by table four is Sharon, the one that just passed her by is Peggy, they are related,” Abraham spoke as they walked through the place. 

Sam remembered the description of the job and how it said on caps lock that they were desperate. How much work can you get that you can’t manage with five worker’s staff? 

“Now, there’s one thing you should know about them: don’t ever flirt, those are their rules not mine,” he explained, near Sam’s ear. “The other thing you should know is that I’d be lost without them, but since, like you, they also go to college, their shifts can…vary. But, we’re all about helping each other here,” he told him with a kind smile. Yep, Professor Dude from Narnia completely. “Anyways, that over there is Johnny. I have no idea who called him in, but his DJ’ing for free so,” he gave Sam a vague shrug. As they stepped on the upper side of the place – the other room—there was a loud crack coming from the inside of the bar.    


“Fuck!” came from somewhere hidden behind the table. 

Abraham rolled his eyes, amused. “Language, boy! Come out of there, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he said as they walked closer. A blond, messy-haired head raised. “Sam, this is my clumsy nephew,” behind him the guy was trying to make an unashamed gesture. 

“Riley,” he said, sticking his hand above the counter for Sam to reach it, Bucky followed. “So, which one of you is Sam, my novice?” he asked, pressing his elbows on the wood. 

Sam shyly raised a hand. 

A phone rang, and Erskine excused himself, “I’ll leave you in good hands,” he told Sam, patting him on the shoulder as he passed him. 

“Did he already toured you?” Nod. “Did he tell you not to flirt with our beautiful female co-workers?”  

“So I _can_ flirt with the male?”    


Bucky fought the urge to face palm in second hand embarrassment. 

Riley stared at a spot on the floor, accepting the retort .

“Come in,” he said, pulling a piece of the counter up, as it served as a door, for Sam to join him at that other end. 

Sam f ollowed him , what do you know, actually excited. 

“Okay, first off: phone,” Riley demanded, put it out his open hand. 

Sam took it out, checked it for one last time and when he handed it to Riley the screen was still on, his background visible for everyone near. 

He didn’t think it mattered, but when Riley said: “Holy shit,” he might’ve started sweating behind his neck. “Is that a fucking Quetzal?” he asked, smiling. 

Sam had sat through Animal Planet’s ‘25 Most Exotic Birds’ especial one afternoon, and he decided that these vibrantly colored animals that live in the mountainous, tropical forests of Central America where they eat fruit, insects, lizards, and other small creatures were his month’s favorite. He’d set up the wallpaper some two weeks ago. 

“Yeah, so? I like birds, what?” he immediately set in the defensive mode that living every day with Bucky and Rhodey’s constant mockery had become well accustomed. 

Riley reached for his phone on the back of his pants, to show him a different colored Quetzal on his phone's lockscreen. Sam blinked at the screen twice, then at Riley, his grin growing wider, as Riley’s mouth dropped more open. 

Bucky, left out, had to actually move a lit tle too over the counter to see . W hen he did, “Oh my god, marry him,” was all he said. 

* * *

Rhodey  took his way back and then back again as yet another exercise, but when he saw he was a block away , he started walking normally. 

Phone on his jacket’s pocket, he reached Sam’s new work place to find people crowding outside of it. Not because it was too full, but because the place apparently had a “no smoking inside” policy and so the smokers had to take it outside. 

Before Rhodey dived inside the bar, he managed to catch on a fight happening right there, beside him. 

“Show him he needs to learn to shut up, Justin!” was a guy shouting. 

“Please,” came a scoff. “Don’t make me laugh. Hammy knows he’s gonna crawl his ass back to me once my dad kills his old man’s entire industry,” was a lazy-tongue reply. 

Rhodey was trying to catch to the whole scene before he decided he was actually needed to step in. 

“Oh, you’re such a prick, Stark!” Some other guy yelled, and Rhodey caught on. 

But he wasn’t fast enough to stop them from pushing the kid off his balance, making him land on his ass, and why not, kick him a bit. 

“Leave him alone, for fuck’s sake,”  Rhodey  said, moving people that were already leaving out of the way. 

By the time Rhodey reached the center point, everyone had already said their curses and spat their saliva, except for the last guy who was downing the rest of his drink on the guy’s brown, poofy hair. Rhodey glared at him and the guy burped in front of Rhodey’s face. Rhodey recognized him from the Advanced Physics class. Vanko. Violent, had a drinking problem for all Rhodey could tell.    


He fought every inch of his body no to fight him as he left. He had other stuff to focus on. 

“Oh my god,” he muttered, kneeling down to a broken, little man. “Are you okay? What happened?” Rhodey asked, very careful to not touch him. He didn’t want the kid to snap at him. 

Stark started laughing hysterically, some tears even came out of his eyes. 

“Justin Hammer and his army of bullies ain’t liking the idea that he’s queer as fuck,” he answered, between laughs. 

“Is that what you said? You provoked them?” The kid shrugged. 

“We went to the same boarding school. He creeped on other guys when we were in the showers, too,” he shared, hiccupping. 

“You’re hammered,” Rhodey said, matter-of-factly. 

“Yep,” the kid replied, with another hiccup.    


“How old even _are_ you?” he wondered. 

Stark just groaned in reply, trying to fix his beer-wet hair. 

“Look, it’s not okay for you to be here, I need to call someone,” Rhodey said, in hope that the kid would give him a number of a direction. 

All he did was laugh harder. “As if they cared. My mother’s at some lost island in the Caribbean and my dad’s in Boston pretending none of us exist,”  Stark told him. 

Rhodey stopped tapping on his phone to look at the kid in front of him. Shattered, stepped on, miserable. The wonder, genius kid, arrived at MIT at a young age, and was probably going to leave it with the highest honors. 

That kid desperately needed a hug. Or several. 

“Hey,” Rhodey  called, reaching for him. “My name’s James,” he said, aiming for a warm smile. 

“Jimmy,” the kid muttered. “I’m Tony,” he said, with the faintest smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Tony. Let’s get you home.”


	2. The One With The Drunk Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want me to say? Shit happens. World’s a bad place. That’s the irony of life, some people want children and can’t have them and some others don’t love the ones they have,” Bucky said, in all his pessimistic way of thinking. “There’s little you can do about it, Rhodey,” he finished.
> 
> Or The One Where Rhodey Deals With Too Many Drunk People In One Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things before we get started: 
> 
>   * Remember when I said this story is plotless. I meant it. 
>   * I would love if you guys told me who do you want me to introduce & which ship would you like to see being developed (I have the main ships in my mind already but I need to explore other possibilities while I get to the part I want to get)
>   * The most important thing about this chapter: Riley being a trans guy. I wasn't orginally going to put him as trans (I've never written trans characters before), but I was watching Sense8 this past weekend and I realized Riley was an unisex name, and then it occurred to me. I'm really excited to explore Riley, not just as trans but as his whole character because canonically he's just a dead "friend" Sam had once. So the possibilities are countless. I did some research on writing trans characters because I'm a cis female and I didn't want to pull things out of my ass that I shouldn't bulling, and I'm planning on working with trans folk to write a chapter from Riley's pov (& if my trans friend is up for it maybe a sex scene at some point) because I really don't want to assume a perspective that's hella away from being how trans people actually feel; anyways, the basic two main rules were: 1) Don't make a fuss about it and 2) Be specific. I tried to follow those two points here in this chapter, it's not a thing of drama & it's not just implied, it's very much stated. Basically, all I need you to know is that Riley is trans here, he's most likely going to be a recurring character (because I ship him with Sam waaaay too much) so don't worry he will be explored. 
>   * PS. Riley is not going to be the only trans character either ;)
> 


There’s something to be said about Rhodey’s undying need to help others. This desire, he’s sure, is one of the reasons he is joining the air force. As he’s walking up the stairs of the Nicholas Building, two blocks away from his dorm, carrying a freakin’ teenager, he remembers his mother’s sweet voice telling him that was his biggest trait: his kindness. All because Rhodey had broken his left arm at seven trying to defend his friend Alicia from Timmy’s — the new boy — fixation on taking her dolls away from her so he’d made fun of her whining. He figured he wasn’t going to lose his arm on this particular crusade but he was sure as hell worried.

Not taller than 5’5” was this poor little genius, muttering about thermodynamics as much as his father’s abusive treatment. “But I like you, Jiminy Cricket,” he managed to whisper to Rhodey’s armpit, as he opened the glassed door of the building. 

Rhodey was worried, frustrated at a man he didn’t even know, concerned about his friends’ whereabouts, stressed at the email he still hadn’t recieved, but mostly he was just sad. He had known this tiny man for no longer than 40 minutes and he was already feeling for him. Because if there’s something he wants in life it's children, and he can’t just bear the thought of someone not looking after their own. Especially not someone with a future as bright as Tony’s.

“Which floor you on, man?” He asked as Tony hiccupped.

“Six.”

Rhodey looked around until he found the elevator. He’d already worn himself out on his last PT’s, and he wasn’t about to carry Tony six floors up the stairs.

He tapped the appropriate button and when the elevator came to life Tony at the noise. Rhodey hugged him tighter and the boy hummed.

“You smell nice,” he commented, still hiccupping.

The corner of Rhodey’s mouth drew up, and saved the ‘thanks’ to himself as Tony was starting to close his eyes.

“Which room, kid?” Rhodey called for him as they exited the elevator. Tony let go of him and walked to his room by himself, all clumsy limbs. He stopped at the 618, and failed to put the key inside the lock. Rhodey shook his head and sighed as he walked over to help.

“Sowie,” Tony said, as Rhodey took the key away and opened the door.

You’d expect the son of Howard Stark's dorm room to be something taken out of a magazine, but expectations rarely meet reality. Tony’s dorm was just a regular dorm, messy, dusty, and filled with smells of burnt food and dirty clothing. But he did have a stereo, though, and a console and a Blu-Ray player along with a flat-screen. Rhodey had friends who also had stuff like that, so he wasn’t all that surprised about Tony’s place.

What did surprise him was the unassuming voice that floated into the room a moment after they stepped inside.

“Tony?” the voice called, and Tony was falling onto the floor.

“Homey, I’m drunk,” he yelled.

Rhodey saved his question and went to get a glass of water, his Good Samaritan gesture of the day about to be finished.

“You’re unbelievable,” the voice yelled back, but there was amusement in his tone. Rhodey figured he’d let himself be known but decided against it. Meeting new people wasn’t Rhodey’s task right now, all he wanted to do was help and then get out.

When he came back from the fridge Tony was already curled up into a tiny ball in the wide, black couch. “Here,” he pointed at him the water, setting the glass on the table. Tony looked at it with sleepy eyes and Rhodey fought the urge to pet the guy as if he was a lost, broken puppy. “Drink a little every time you get up, so the hangover won’t hit you so hard later in the morning,” he instructed, voice low.

“Are you a pre-med student?” he asked, sleepily.

“No, I’m Mechanical Engineering,” Rhodey replied, frowning.

“Right. We’re in a class together,” Tony remembered and Rhodey nodded. Silence covered the room and Rhodey wasn’t sure how to proceed. He stood up and as he made to leave Tony spoke again, “Hey, Jiminy, you’re not gonna be a stranger right?” he asked, big brown eyes opening again to stare at him. Rhodey bit his lip and looked out the window. “I promise I’m not as bad as I act.”

And Rhodey believed that. He’s heard that he was cocky, that he was arrogant, and narcissistic, but after tonight Rhodey was never going to see Tony that way. He was going to be the poor, seventeen year old kid, who never played ball with his father.

Rhodey walked over to Tony’s sleepy figure and took his phone out of his pocket. He typed his own number and called himself. “There you go,” he said as he saved his number on Tony’s phone after hanging up on himself. “Now I’ll save you up, and I’ll call you later today, see how you’re doing. That sounds good?”

Tony drew his thump up and then down, aiming his fist at Rhodey. Rhodey bumped it softly and closed the door quietly behind him. He saved his number on his phone, noticed he’d got the email he was meant to get, and stuffed his phone back inside his jacket pocket.

The night wasn’t as bad as he thought it’d be.

* * *

 

Bucky cleaned off the liquor of his chin with his wrist, his jaw aching from the time it spent open, laughing.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam whined.

“Why the hell would you dress as a penguin, oh my god?” Riley asked, not bothering to hide how hilarious he found the image of five years old Sam embarrassing himself in his first class costume party.

“They’re flightless birds! I felt connected to their story of being a neglected part of their community. You guys wouldn’t know because you’re white,” he joked, murmuring. Both men groaned in reply and Sam stuck his tongue out, and pressed it with his teeth, smiling. 

“Please, penguins are black _and_ white!” Bucky retorted.

“Besides, you could’ve gone as an ostrich or a dodo,” Riley offered, adjusting messy glasses on its proper place.

“Oh, right, because _that_ would’ve been less embarrassing,” Sam said, handing him another dry glass. They laughed as Bucky sipped more of his drink, trying not to choke.

“What about you, man, what did you dress up as?” Bucky asked Riley after a pleasant pause. Riley bit his lower lip and looked behind Bucky’s shoulder.

“Cinderella,” he answered. Sam raised his eyebrows at him, and Riley made a nonchalant shrug. “Though, I remember I wanted to dress as some white version of Mulan, but my mom thought it was inappropriate,” he added cracking a laugh. He looked at his audience and tried to hide his swallowing. “You seem disappointed,” he told them, looking down at his organized glasses.

“I was hoping for some massive mocking, something like Barney’s yellow friend or maybe Thomas The Train,” Bucky murmured, Riley was grinning.

“Well, sorry, I was just the cutest princess of my class,” he said, pressing his lips in a thin line.

“Riley,” a brunette woman appeared, with thick red lipstick and the bar’s uniform –Bucky recognized her as Peggy. “Bobbi needs you at table fourteen, some bulb went off,” she said and Riley excused himself. “You,” she called after Sam. “Those two costumer’s have been sitting there for over ten minutes now, go ask them if they want something,” she instructed, with polite eyebrows and Sam nodded, running to his very first clients. Bucky watched from afar and took pictures of him to show them to Rhodey later. He sipped his drink and then tried calling him, again. Nothing. He frowned at his phone and then stuffed it into his pocket again.

“— You just let me know,” Sam yelled at the couple, as he retreated back to standing in front of Bucky from the other side of the bar. “That didn’t go so bad,” he shared with a smile.

“I’m proud of ya’, now refill me,” he instructed and Sam followed as told.

“What you think of him?” he asked, voice low.

“Of who?”

“Riley, you idiot,” Sam answered, settling the bottle on the top shelf behind him.

“He’s cool,” Bucky said, honestly. Sam looked down and wrinkled his nose, smiling.

“He is, isn’t he?” he asked again, and Bucky stared down at his friend.

Raising his eyebrows at Sam, he added: “He’s also your boss.”

“Boss’ nephew, there’s a difference. And shut the fuck up—“

“Excuse me?” some curly, brown-redish haired girl called after them. “Is Pietro here?” she asked, with an accent.

“Yeah, he’s in the back, helping with some boxes. Do you want me to call him?” Sam asked.

“Who are you?” she asked instead, with an amused smile.

“I’m the new guy, Sam,” he offered his hand, and the girl shook it. “Are you Pietro’s girlfriend?”

“Ugh, God, no,” Pietro said, coming from the backroom, can of Red Bull in his hand. “She’s my sister, Wanda” he said, looking at her. She gave Sam a smile and waved her hand. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be taking care of Kitty,” he wondered.

“I was, and then I was done…Dad picked me up,” she finished, hesitantly.

Pietro rolled his eyes. “We’re not having this conversation—“

“Pietro, listen, I told him we could meet here—”

“Did you let him know I work here?! Jesus, Wanda,” he yelled, then sighed and got out of the bar, dragging his sister from her wrist to a quieter place, away from them.

Sam watched them go quietly and Bucky went to attend the buzzing on his phone.

“Is that Rhodey?” Sam asked.

_ ‘I’m helping Jane do God knows what for some project, I need you to cover my shift. Boss promised to pay you nicely ;) – Darcy’ _

“No. It’s Darcy. My shift just got changed up,” he commented, frowning.

“OK, I think have this all good, I’ll see you in the morning, then,” Sam told him, closing his hand in a fist to Bucky, who pumped it with his.

“Sam, be careful with Riley, alright? We need you to keep this job at least for a while,” he joked, before Sam could reach him to smack his head.

* * *

 

Bucky had just reached his floor when his phone rang.

“Bucky?” Rhodey’s voice sounder over the speaker.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked, almost yelling, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he looked for his keys in his pockets.

“It’s a long story,” Rhodey sighed. “Are you guys still there?” he asked.

Bucky got inside his apartment, and kicked off his shoes at the door. He closed it behind him. “Sam is. I’m already home,” he told him, landing on the couch.

“Alright, I’ll go over there, then. I gotta get up early tomorrow,” he said.

“What's the story?” Bucky asked, bored.

“It's not a big deal. I'll tell you when I get there,” Rhodey said back, hanging up.

Bucky stood up again and went to change to blue sleeping shorts and a white shirt, walked over the fridge and grabbed a bottle of apple juice that was already open.

Rhodey got to the apartment ten minutes later. “Are you asleep?” he asked, closing the door behind him. Bucky was breaking his own record at flappy bird, insomnia getting the best out of him.

“Hardly,” he said, looking at the screen, concentrated.

Rhodey landed on the floor next to him, and placed his head on the couch, just by Bucky’s ribs. “How was Sam’s day?”

“He might’ve finally found the love of his life,” Bucky said, grinning. Rhodey moved his head to look at Bucky.

“What?” he muttered, frowning.

Bucky lost his focus on the game and lost, sighing he blocked his phone and put it on the couch’s armrest. “One of his co-workers, actually, his boss’ nephew, go figure.” Rhodey pressed his lips in a downward curve. Now, that’s just looking for trouble. “But I mean, he’s pretty cool. Trans,” Bucky added, looking down at Rhodey.

“Really?” he wondered, raising his eyebrows as Bucky nodded. “That’s nice,” he said, smiling softly.

“Yeah, but, what’s really unbelievable is this:” he turned over on the couch, resting his head on his hand as Rhodey turned over to face him from the floor. “Do you remember the weird ass bird Sam has as his phone lockscreen?” Rhodey nodded, frowning. “Dude had one too!”

“ _Pffft_ , seriously?” Rhodey scoffed. Bucky nodded slowly, and turned back to laying on his back.

“It would’ve been a pretty scene if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re embarrassing nerds,” Bucky finished. Rhodey cracked a laugh in the back of his throat, shaking his head. “So, why did you miss it?”

Rhodey sighed, and buried his head on the couch again. Bucky turned his body and forced Rhodey’s head up. “Do you remember the guy from the class I told you about yesterday?”

“Yeah?”

“Turns out his life is pretty damn sad,” Rhodey said, getting up and walking over to the kitchen.

“Why?” Bucky asked, sitting up.

“His father’s an ass, he has no friends, apparently, and tonight some punks almost beat the crap outta him,” he said, downing a glass of water and then dumping the glass on the sink.

“So you played hero tonight?” Bucky asked, grinning. Rhodey walked over and laid on the couch, his head on Bucky’s leg.

“Don’t be an ass, I’m upset,” he whined at his knee. Bucky shook his head, and scratched Rhodey’s short hair, soothing. “Why would you bring people into this world if not to love them? I don’t get it,” Rhodey whispered, looking at the floor. The sinking feeling of being unhelpful clawed at his chest.

Bucky shook his head. “Ever the kind little man,” he muttered. Rhodey glared at him and Bucky shrugged. “What do you want me to say? Shit happens. World’s a bad place. That’s the irony of life, some people want children and can’t have them and some others don’t love the ones they have,” Bucky said, in all his pessimistic way of thinking.   “There’s little you can do about it, Rhodey,” he finished.

“If you have children, and you don’t want them, give them to me, alright?”

“Fine, I’ll let you have my kids,” he sighed. Pause.

“That didn’t sound right,” Rhodey realized, cracking a laugh. Bucky drew his hand to cover his eyes and laughed along.

It was then that the window by the lamp started cracking open. 

Bucky and Rhodey shot upright away from the intruder, who was having a hard time trying to get up from the floor he just landed on.

Rhodey went to call the police when suddenly a voice yelled from outside the window.

“Clint, what the fuck?”

Rhodey and Bucky shared a look and Rhodey walked over to look out the window.

A girl from the floor above was looking down at him. “Is he yours?” Rhodey yelled.

“Actually, he’s his, but yeah, sorta,” she yelled back. Rushing out.

Rhodey got his head inside again and looked at Bucky, carefully studying the dark-blond man standing all funny in front of him. Yep, definitely drunk.

“Hello, man?” Bucky called, the guy was too busy staring at the floor. Bucky clapped his fingers in front of his face to draw his attention to him.

The guy blinked twice at him. “You’re not Nat,” he said, matter-of-factly. Bucky slowly shook his head. “Where am I?” he asked, looking around him.

“You’re a floor below your target, I think,” Rhodey said, and the guy didn’t look at him.

“Fuck,” he cursed, checking his ear.

“Hey, you need to go. Take the stairs up, your friend’s waiting for you,” Bucky explained, walking over to open the door, but now the guy was plainly ignoring him, looking for something on the floor.

“Yo’, man?” Rhodey called, poking on his shoulder.

“I can’t hear you,” he yelled, pointing at his hear. “I…need—here it is!” he exclaimed, bending down to pick his hearing device. He gave it a kiss and put it on. “OK, now, who is you?” he turned to Rhodey, poking his chest with his finger.

“I’m Rhodey, I live a floor below the place you should be at—“

“Clint?” a woman called from the hall.

“Over here!” he yelled. “Hey, I missed your place by a floor,” he said, laughing.

“I know, you moron,” she said by the door. “Get out, c’mon,” she instructed. Bucky was looking at Rhodey and then at Clint.

“This is Natasha, guys. Nat, these are my friends Rodney and uhm—,”

“James?” Natasha asked, looking over at Bucky, embarrassed face turning into a small smile.

“…Tasha?” he asked, suddenly surprised, and his mouth dropped and showed a big smile, she walked a little inside the apartment.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said, smiling wider.

“You live here?” he asked her and she shook her head.

“No, he does,” she replied, pointing at the drunk guy trying to re-learn how to shake a hand with Rhodey in the back. “He just moved a week ago, we were at a friend’s party and when we got back here, I made the mistake of telling him he couldn’t just get to his place through the window,” she told them, rolling her eyes as she went.

“I told you I could,” Clint said, hiccupping. And Rhodey figured he’s dealt with enough drunken people for one night.

“Sure, you could, you stupid bird man. Now let’s go,” she offered her hand, and Clint took it sleepily. “It was nice seeing you, James,” she told Bucky.

“You too,” he replied, with a wide smile.

“Goodnight, neighbors,” the drunk, Clint, said, smiling widely at them with his eyes closed.

Bucky closed the door, more awake than he needed.

“James?” Rhodey asked behind him, suppressing a smile.

“Shut up,” Bucky pushed him out of his way.

“Who was that?” he asked as Bucky reached his room’s door.

“She's...the one that got away,” he told him, faint smile, before closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, huge thanks to [Lauren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MackinzieScott/profile/) for betaing my sucky work again.  
> It would mean so much to me if you guys told me what you think. And who should I introduce next?  
> PS. also, who is trans and wants to work with me? [shoot me an ask over tumblr](http://buckybear.co.vu/askfaq) :)


	3. The One With Bucky's Last High School Year Story

_**2008** _

Her giggling echoed in the back of his head like a sweet melody. But it didn’t make his palms sweat any less.

“You know, you laughing isn’t helping me, and therefore, hardly helping you,” he muttered, biting his lower lip at the sight of her. He crawled back up and kissed her lips gently. Loud music was playing in the living room under them.

“I don’t understand why you think you need to impress me,” she told him, biting her lower lip. “I barely know what we’re doing, either,” she added, cracking a laugh.

“I think,” he whispered, amused, “we’re having sex—,”

“Trying to,” she corrected.

“I’ll get there!” he cut her off, making her laugh.

He took a wild, red lock off her forehead and rolled the tip of his fingers down her cheek, light brushes of calloused fingers against soft skin. And Saying she was beautiful under the dim light was such an understatement as saying the moon was big. The moon is fucking huge, and she is fucking beauty personified, fuck Aphrodite. Their lips met again and he breathed in her scent, slight smell of peach and vodka shots.

She sucked on his upper lip and then he rested his forehead against her own. “I love you, Nat,” he let out from the back of his throat, his eyes only barely opening to stare at green ones.

“I love you, too, James,” she whispered back, like it was their little secret.

* * *

Bucky blinked twice and stared blankly at the white-ish ceiling. He lay on his back and sighed. It had been a long while since he woke this kind of unrested, with this kind of empty-stomach feeling. It had been a good while since he remembered his last year of high school. Or how he remembered it, the worst year of his life. As Bucky went to the bathroom another flashback ran through his memories.

 _“I’m going back to Volgograd,”_ she had said, voice steady, sure. _“This has nothing to do with you. Or with what happened. I hate to be leaving. I’d explain everything to you, but I think you have other stuff to focus on. James,”_ she’d called for him, almost pleading, begging for his attention. Bucky had closed the phone tighter in his hand and shut his eyes closed, his mind concentrated on Natasha’s voice.

 _“I love you. But I can’t help. All I can do is bring more trouble into your life, trouble you really don’t need right now, and that’s so unfair I refuse to allow myself to do it. I will be at the park near Dum’s neighbor, he told me he’s gonna gather the rest of the guys up, to say goodbye to me and all that – I’d hate to leave them without saying goodbye, not after, you know – and it’d mean the world to me if you went there. I know you still haven’t seen Dum since he recovered but he’s told me he really misses you and wants to talk to you. Anyways,”_ Natasha had sighed into the speaker, and Bucky could picture her running a hand through her curls, now cut. _“It’s tomorrow night, I’ll leave on Sunday morning. I really don’t want us to end in a voicemail, James,”_ there was a pregnant pause before she spoke again. _“I’ll be here; I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right? It wasn’t your fault what happened, no one —,”_

Natasha cut off her own speech, she knew Bucky too well; his thumb was already itching to press the red button. _“It doesn’t matter what I say if you don’t believe it, which is why I think you need time, why we all need time. I just hope, whenever I see you again, that you’re happy and cracking stupid jokes about stupid TV shows just as you did when we were fourteen; that’s all I want from you. On my end, I promise to be the same Tasha I’ve always been. I hope I can see you tomorrow night, I really do, but if I don’t, at least I have faith that the next time I see you our lives won’t be as hard as they are right now,”_ she’d finished, and if Bucky tried hard enough he could see her smile, fainted and small, as she hung up the phone.

He didn’t show on the gathering, he didn’t say goodbye to her, he didn’t even replied to her voice message. Everything hurt, and facing just more of his problems made it all hurt even more. Which is why on Christmas Eve Bucky did the last thing he’d ever thought he’d do – but it seemed like the only way out of all of it.

But then, when he came out of the hospital, in that little space of room that connects the front door of the hospital to the parking lot where the ambulance parks to let patients in, he saw a spider, a little bigger than the regular ones, and thought of Natasha, because spiders were her favorite kind of animals, and then realized what the paper on the wall the spider was standing on said. _‘Help circle for young adults who just really need life to stop being such a prick. Attended by Dr. Andrew Garner. Only 12$ per meeting.’_

“It’s not as lame as the poster makes it look,” a guy had said from behind him. Over his shoulder, Bucky saw his father still talking to the hospital’s administration staff. “The starting line was my idea, tough,” the guy added again, drawing Bucky’s attention back to him. “I told my uncle he needed something that said ‘we’re cool and calmed, and we just wanna help’, but it came out sounding dumb as fuck.” The guy cracked a laugh, and Bucky noticed a tiny gap between his front teeth. “My uncle is Dr. Andrew, there, by the way. He’s not actually my uncle but he is a close family friend and I had no other nickname to call him when I was a kid,” he explained, fast.

“Anyway, I’ll be helping him with the group, in case you want in,” he paused as he looked for something in his pockets. “Here,” he said handing him a smaller flying of the same poster, “the direction there is my grandma’s basement, but it’s not as creepy as it sounds. It has a mini fridge and a soccer table,” the guy kept babbling, and Bucky kept looking over his shoulder. “Go, you might have a nice time, and my uncle is awesome at helping people,” he finished, showing his big smile again.

Bucky frowned and stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets. “I don’t need help,” he muttered, defensively. But the guy smiled again and locked eyes with him.

“Everybody needs help, sometimes,” he said low, like he didn’t want anyone to listen to their conversation.

Bucky silently thanked him for that. Bucky stared back at him and then drew his eyes back to the wall, where the spider had already crawled its way back to the upper corner of the roof. He could almost see her, willing him to get better, to keep a promise he never made — because he really wanted to see Natasha again, not only because of the sole idea of seeing her, but also because, like she did, he hoped to be happy the next time he saw her too. “Who are you?” Bucky shot, suddenly, moving his head back towards the big-smiley guy.

The guy shifted on his feet and offered his hand. “I’m Sam. Sam Wilson,” he introduced himself, shaking his hand, Bucky’d dare to say, almost excitedly. “I hope to see you there, next Saturday,” he added, before dashing back inside the hospital as Bucky’s dad came out of it.

Bucky didn’t mention the offer of the strange, cheerful guy to his dad on their way back home, nor to his mom when she tried to crush his ribcage in the tightest hug ever known to man at the front door when they arrived, let alone to his tiny sister who was just so ready to talk to him about how much fun she had in the past three days with her friends and how much she wished he’d been there. But when he asked for fifteen bucks on Saturday morning his father didn’t question, only smiled and handed him the money, and his mother kissed his forehead, and gave her this look, this look that said ‘I love you’ and ‘Thank you’ with such a powerful force that Bucky felt three years old again.

* * *

 

**_Present_ **

“—And listen, he’s a Mets fan!” Sam shouted as Rhodey drank his coffee and stared at his friend. “I told him I had a friend who was a stuck-up ass who supported the Yankees and he asked me to ask you why you don’t love yourself?” he told Rhodey, raising his eyebrows. Rhodey opened his arms at him but Sam cut him before he could speak. “Anyways, he said he’s more of a soccer fan, which is lame, I know, but we can’t all be perfect, right?” Sam finished serving himself more coffee.

“Did you even do any work?” Rhodey wondered vaguely as Sam sat across from him.

“A little,” he replied. “Riley’s just really freaking cool, man,” Sam kept saying as Bucky came out of the hall and stood in the threshold listening to him babble. He looked at Rhodey who was half-amused, half-annoyed. “He has a certified pass to volunteer at the zoo in the wild birds section,” Sam continued as Rhodey noticed Bucky standing there, watching him in his misery. “He said he only had to take a couple of courses with actual experts and do some donations to the zoo, but he knows so much and —,”

 _‘Oh my god,’_ Rhodey mouthed at Bucky, in front of a Sam who was hardly paying attention to him. Bucky cracked a laugh and cut Sam in mid-story.

“He’s an EMT and Paramedic Major – hey, man – and the job helps him get around and get his hormones treatment,” Sam finished.

“Was I right?” Bucky asked Rhodey as he went up the fridge to grab cereal.

“Oh, absolutely,” Rhodey muttered, widening his eyes.

“About what?” Sam asked as Bucky was bending down to the lower drawer to grab a bowl.

“Nothing. Did you just get here?” Bucky asked, sitting down.

“Yeah, my shift ended like an hour ago. The guy that took after me, oh my God, listen to this, he’s such an ass, you’d like him. He has hearing aids, so when someone in the room is saying stuff he isn’t interested in, he just shuts it off and pretends he’s listening,” Sam told, smiling widely.

“He does sound like my type,” Bucky commented, nodding as he poured milk into his bowl of cereal.

“He’s hella nice. And he lives in this building!”

“Wait, dark-blond?” Sam raised his eyebrows at Rhodey’s question. “With hangover?” Rhodey continued.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam muttered, nodding slowly. Rhodey looked at Bucky, his lips forming a flat, amused line. “What?”

“We met him last night,” Bucky said, with his mouth full of Captain Crunch.

“He broke in here through the window, drunk off his ass,” Rhodey added, then bit his bread.

“Well, he is weird, likes birds, too, but not as much as Riley,” Sam said, sipping on his coffee.

“He was with a girl, too. Bucky knew her,” Rhodey said, almost casually, if it weren’t for the fact that his eyebrow was arching as he turned to look at him.

And now all the attention was on him. “It was Natasha,” Bucky almost whispered, looking at Sam. And Sam knew, because Sam knew everything there was to be known about Bucky. His eyes slowly opened from the frown they had been a little closed in.

“The Natasha?” Sam asked, and Bucky slowly nodded. “Damn,” he muttered, looking at his cup.

“I don’t understand,” Rhodey remarked, as they suddenly forgot his nonexistent knowledge about neither Bucky’s past tragedy nor the whole Natasha situation.

“What’d you say?” Sam asked, not noticing Rhodey’s question.

“I told her I was glad to see her,” Bucky said with a shrug. Truth was he got a little surprised by her presence, and since he had long since moved on, it’s not like Natasha caused him all kinds of emotions as she once did. As of now, all Natasha did was bring out both good and bad memories.

“Hello, it’s me, the one member of this group who arrived late,” Rhodey called, with a voice that suggested he was shaking his arms above his head. Bucky turned to look at him and only found him switching glances at him and then at Sam.

Bucky sighed and lowered his bowl. “You didn’t tell him,” he said, looking down. Sam took another sip of his coffee.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he simply pointed out, eyes on Bucky. Bucky exhaled heavily and Rhodey closed his mouth, waiting. Bucky turned to Sam, helpless. “Alright, look, Bucky’s last year of high school was…rough,” Sam told Rhodey.

“Is that when you did, you know, that one thing we don’t ever talk about?” Rhodey asked, and Bucky nodded at him, meeting his eyes only briefly.

He was fine, he is fine. He doesn’t need this. But Rhodey is his friend, and Bucky still remembers Dr. Andrew’s steady words of how talking about it, with anyone, was going to do more good than it was going to do bad.

Bucky figured, later on, that everyone has something in their past they regret, some burden, some grief. Everyone’s got a story to tell. And he wasn’t afraid of his anymore, he wasn’t ashamed. He was just sad, some times more than others. “In the summer before that year started I had been in a car accident,” Bucky said, in slow tempo, looking up at Rhodey just at the end of his sentence. “There were four of us, me and my friends, two of them died,” and Bucky still had the moment carved in his memory. The laughs, the jokes, the last words. “I was messing around with Jacques, one of them, who was in the back seat, and Gabe, who was driving, had to yell at us because he couldn’t focus and –“

“Bucky…” Sam called, tentatively.

“—it wasn’t my fault,” Bucky continued, looking back to Sam. “It took me a while to realize it wasn’t my fault, but that’s what was happening before…,” He cut himself mid-phrase, making motions with his hand, trying to fight the choke back. He could still see the blinding light and hear the deafening horn in the back of his mind. He shut his eyes closed and shook his head. “Before the truck came out of nowhere,” he began again, opening his eyes. “Gabe and Jacques were in the left side, so they took all the hit, killed instantly. Dum was in the ICU for six days. I…scratched my elbow,” Bucky finished, pressing his lips in a downward curve.

Rhodey was just staring, barely blinking. Sam had moved closer to Bucky to rest a hand on his shoulder and Rhodey locked eyes with him trying to do the same thing, but with his eyes: reassuring Bucky of how important it was that he was alive now. For them. For anyone that loved him.

Bucky smiled and blinked slowly, and then adjusted himself on his seat as he looked at Sam too. “I didn’t tell you anything before because I don’t really think about it that much, now. Just you know, on their birthdays and the day it happened,” he explained, shrugging.

“Don’t worry. What we don’t wanna talk about, we don’t wanna talk about,” Rhodey replied, mimicking the shrug.

“After that, I just, lost myself, locked myself; I pushed everyone away – Natasha included,” he continued. “She had some problems, before Christmas of that year, back home in Russia, so she went back there. I saw her after our graduation, caught a glimpse of her from afar. It wasn’t the same; we weren’t.”

“When you said she was the one that got away, I really didn’t think it was like this,” Rhodey sighed, scratching the back of his head.

Bucky raised his eyebrows and moved his head to one side. “I know, but in all technicalities, she was the one that got away. Some point in there I met Sam,” he said later, looking at Sam, sitting at his other side. “On a rainy, gray day,” he said, faking a romantic tone and Sam cracked a laugh in the tension that had consumed the room. “I got help from his uncle, Dr. Andrew. Fixed my shit day after day, went to some stupid summer camp where I met this pretty dude, Matthew – I think I already told you guys that one – and then applied to here, and here I am,” Bucky finished, with a wide smile.

“You’re fine now?” Rhodey asked again, making sure.

“Most of the days,” Bucky answered, honestly.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, man,” Rhodey said, softly, and Bucky looked down and nodded.

“It’s alright. I got Sam out of that,” Bucky reminded, with a smile.

Rhodey looked at Sam and then back at Bucky. “Alright then, we’re back to our daily schedule,” Rhodey stated, standing up and dropping his dish on the sink. “Am I meeting you guys tonight for COD?”

“I gotta work!” Sam exclaimed, with a proud smile, raising his hands above his head.

“You mean you’re gonna stare at your handsome boss,” Bucky muttered.

“Boss’ nephew! And I’m not,” Sam shot, shaking his head more than needed.

“Right. Bucky?” Rhodey asked from the living room, putting on his leather jacket.

“I have no life, Rhodes,” he yelled back.

Rhodey left the apartment smiling.

* * *

 

Rhodey was erasing the mistake of his equation on his notebook when his phone vibrated on his lap under the table.

_‘Apparently last night I yelled “the cops were called on a motherfucker and that motherfucker is me”.’_

And again on his hand.

_‘And then proceeded to exorcise a sandwich.’_

And again.

_‘What do you think that means?’_

Rhodey smiled despite himself. It was the Stark kid.

He checked if the professor was looking and typed silently. _‘I’m in class but maybe later we can Google ‘sandwich phobia treatment’ & get u some help?’_

_‘Are you self-appointing yourself as my nanny, Rhodes? BC I know people who’d actually pay you for that kind of service’_

_‘This is why no one cares about u, kid u.u.’_

_‘That’s my man ;).’_

Rhodey rolled his eyes and then his phone vibrated again.

_‘Srsly speaking, thanks for the help. See ya’ in class.’_

So Rhodey had earned a new friend. He smiled at his screen and went back to focus on his class.

“There’s a book in the library waiting for you all,” Professor McCoy said before the class ended. “Just tell some of the library staff you’re looking for Professor Hank’s supplies and they’ll lead you to them. Read the first three chapters and we’ll discuss them in the next class. Good evening, people,” he explained, with his characteristic smile. It was Friday noon so everybody went out groaning or just plainly ignoring the assignment.

Rhodey repeated the same instructions to a classmate that didn’t catch them before stampeding out the classroom, along with the herd. Checking his watch he decided he was going to have to catch his next class before getting the book at the library, two blocks from where he was. He tsked his tongue.

After class was done by four, he prayed for some luck and opened the door to the library. He was met with some quiet murmurs that filled the whole room and he bit his bottom lip, turning his head and looking for staff.

“Do you need help?” came a voice from behind him.

Rhodey turned so fast he could’ve gotten whiplash, the girl in front of him even went backwards from the sudden turn. “Do you work here?” he asked her, stupidly. Because she had pouty lips and what Sam proudly calls a punk-rock hair cut that Rhodey secretly liked very much on women.

“The ugly staff name tag pin can either mean yes, or that I have poor fashion skills,” she joked, moving her head to the side.

“Well, you don’t look like you don’t know how to dress properly, so I’m guessing yes,” he still said with an asking tone. ‘Your social skills are truly remarkable’ he could almost hear Sam say in his head.

The girl however seemed amused enough to narrow her eyes in a comical way and nod slowly. She walked over a bookshelf that was near them and placed some books correctly. Rhodey just followed with his sight. “So what do you need?” she asked, turning to him.

“Er, Professor Hank McCoy’s supplies,” he replied, prayer on the tip of his tongue.

But it was worthless because the girl wrinkled her nose and pressed her lips together, almost in a pained expression. He was out of luck. “We ran out of copies just an hour ago,” she explained and Rhodey tsked his tongue again.

“Dammit,” he cursed. She was looking back at him with pity, hands in her sweater pockets. “Are you sure there isn’t something you can do? Anything?” he asked, almost trying to touch her. “I just really need that book for the weekend because I won’t be able to read it once the week starts,” he told her, trying to give her soft eyes.

She chuckled at him and Rhodey blinked twice. “You’re giving me puppy eyes, sorry. They’re not really great,” she said and Rhodey sighed.

“Alright.” Rhodey made to leave.

“Wait, I didn’t say no. I’m thinking,” she called him, then paused for a while. “I know you. You come around here often, you like to read Nicholas Sparks’ books,” she said, a little too loudly.

“I read a lot of stuff,” he refuted, but she still laughed at him.

“I’m not judging you, but I think it’s unhealthy the amount of times you’ve read Dear John, if I can be honest,” she joked.

“My homework? Can you help me or not?” he was almost whining now. She bit her bottom lip and he tried not to follow with his eyes. Her lips were honestly something distracting.

“Give me your number,” she asked, straight forward. Rhodey actually frowned at the interesting turn of events. But since, again, he was out of luck, she quickly added: “Not like that,” she giggled, “I’ll ask one of our providers to see if he can get me some more by tomorrow and I’ll give you a call if or when he does?” she offered.

Rhodey looked some other way and then back at her, nodding. Trying to act like his breath hadn’t gotten stuck on his throat because it’d been ages since he’d gone out with anyone other than Bucky and Sam, and he knew that didn’t count at all. “Alright, okay, yeah, that’s—fine,” he said as she silently passed him her phone. He typed his number and saved himself as ‘Rhodey (Guy who’s read Dear John too many times)’. “I’m Rhodey, by the way,” he introduced himself as he passed her the phone, offering his hand.

“Oh, I’m Claire,” she said back, shaking his hand, her lips opening to show a big smile.

* * *

 

Bucky finished his breakfast solemnly and then saw Sam crash on the couch. “Ugh,” he groaned, jealous, as he grabbed his keys and go out of the apartment. Darcy owed him so much.

He didn’t think about Natasha in the way to the coffee shop, which was good in some way. But he did think about the guys. He remembered when he met Jacques after helping Jim from getting beat up in that park around his neighbor when they were twelve. He met all Jim’s weird bunch that day, and he liked them a lot. Gabe was probably his favorite, all charm and jokes, puffy afro-head, and he was smarter than he let on, smarter than all of them. Bucky liked that, people who were deeper than they seemed.

He was pretty sure he would’ve developed a crush on Gabe if Natasha hadn’t arrived that beginning of the school year. And if Gabe wouldn’t have died five years later. He misses them. Not just Jacques and Gabe, but all of them. He misses them but it’s not painful anymore. Bucky unlocked and opened the door to the coffee shop while considering maybe going back to Facebook, just to see if he can find his old high school friends again, apologize for being an ass, and hope they still were the awesome group of people they were. Maybe Natasha kept in touch with Dum…

“Owww,” groaned someone from the floor behind the counter and Bucky startled so hard he threw himself at the wall behind him, hard.

Bucky shut his eyes close and heard exactly how someone hitting their head against wood sounded like. He opened his eyes to see his bald-headed co-worker. “Fucking Sitwell, what the hell?!” Bucky yelled, regaining his composure. Sitwell was yawning as he stood up. “What the fuck were you doing sleeping on the floor behind the counter?”

“Well, I’m soooorry! I’m not rich as all of you,” he replied, rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses back on. He had a cyan shirt and shorts; he hadn’t come to work.

“What are you talking about? I’m not rich,” Bucky shook his head, walking over the coat rack to get his coffee shop apron.

“Well, but your condo’s management didn’t threat to deport you, now, did he?” Jasper muttered, eyes closed as he sat on one of the stools, resting his chin on his palm.

“What?” Bucky turned back to him as he put the apron on. “Did he do that? Wait, can he?”

“No, you, gringo,” Jasper said, opening his eyes. “My last name’s Sitwell. I was born here, my dad’s American,” he explained, wrinkling his nose at Bucky.

“Well, sorry, the way you said--,”

“I know, don’t worry. I’m edgy ‘cause the man’s an ass,” he said before another yawn interrupted him mid-speech. “And I’m tired”.

“Why he’d do that, though?” Bucky wondered, turning on the coffee machines and setting up the blenders.

“He saw me sneak around a couple of dudes, sometimes,” he answered, sleepily, while shrugging. “Guy might be a total homophobe,” he added, shaking his head.

Bucky frowned. “I don’t think that’s legal. You can sue him, maybe,” he offered as he fixed his hair in a ponytail.

“You kill me when you put your hair back like that, you know,” he said, smiling. Bucky rolled his eyes, amused. It’d been five different times since he told Jasper he wasn’t interested in him like that. “And I don’t have money to pay for a lawyer. Besides, it could be the other thing,” he mentioned, moving his hand a lot.

“What other thing?”

“…I slept with his daughter, and I never really called her back,” Jasper said, ashamed.

Bucky nodded slowly. He breathed in, looked at Jasper, “You’re lucky he’s just throwing you out,” he said, after a pregnant pause.

Jasper drew his head back down to the counter.

“Okay, here,” Bucky called him as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and got his keys out.

“What’s that?” Jasper asked, blinking at the keys Bucky had in front of his face.

“You can borrow my bed while I finish my shift and then take after me when I’m done,” he told him.

Jasper took the keys, smiling. “Oh, really, Barnes? You want me in your bed?”

Bucky chuckled and rolled his eyes again. “To sleep, yes. You look like shit and I can’t risk having you here, like some creepy hobo. It’d scare the costumers,” he said, and then leaned to him. “That’s what friends do,” he added. Sitwell groaned in reply.

“Jesus, how many times are you going to leave me in the friendzone?” he whined.

“Until you realize you can do better than me,” Bucky told him, smiling.

“I already told you I’m willing to lower my standards for you!” he joked, and Bucky laughed along. “You’re a good man, Barnes. And I want you to be a bad one,” he muttered, reluctantly getting out of the stool.

“Get out,” Bucky asked him, with a smile. Bucky was cleaning off some idiot's dick doodle on table 4 when the tiny bell of the door let him know someone had come in. He turned with his classic costumer-friendly smile to find blue puppy eyes and a tentative smile.

"I was hoping I'd find you," Steve said as Bucky walked over near him, cracking a laugh.

"Damn, here in my workplace? That's weird," he joked, Steve rolled his eyes amused. Bucky went inside and took out his notepad. "Peppermint Mocha?"

"No, actually I didn't come for coffee," Steve replied. Bucky raised one long eyebrow. "I mean, sure, but I need a favor, too," he explained.

Bucky blinked, and then slowly nodded. "Okay, what is it?" he wondered.

"I'm an art major," Steve stated as if that was the answer. Bucky moved his head to one side slowly, motioning for him to go on, and Steve sighed. "There's this art project I have for the weekend. A collection. And, uhm, my theme is interesting people I meet and I'm missing just one more and I kinda want you to be the last," he finished, slowly.

"Me?" The 'Why?' was left unsaid.

"Yeah, you have all that dark persona going on, and I think you'd be pretty fun to portrait," he said, flashing bright teeth.

"Why?" Bucky still wondered.

"Well, the hair, mostly." Steve explained, moving an open hand around Bucky's face.

It was his turn to chuckle. "Ok, fine. What do you need me to do?" he asked, with an almost resigned tone.

Steve took a tiny notepad out of his backpack and wrote something on it. "Send profile pics to my email," he instructed, handing him the piece of paper.

Bucky took it, curving his lips.

"Oh, and maybe, show up? It's downtown, here—" he wrote the direction on the same piece of paper. "I'm asking all my friends to come," Steve told Bucky, scratching the back of his head.

"So I'm one of your friends?" Bucky raised one eyebrow.

"Maybe," he said, as he took his coffee.

"Alright," Bucky laughed along. "See ya', then, bro," he showed his fist at him and Steve pumped it, cracking.

"Thanks for the help, really," Steve finished, with that smile of his, before taking off.

* * *

 

Sam was a mess. A really sore, really a tired mess. Turned out Friday was no longer his favorite day of the week, not if they would all be like this one. He had managed to fuck up five out of his last six orders and he was currently fighting against a bag of tiny drink-umbrellas that just wouldn’t fucking rip open.

“Bro, you got a line here, and I don’t mean it in a good way,” Pietro said, looking down to him.

“They’re not—going to win,” Sam breathed out, failing.

Pietro chuckled and bent down to take the bag out of Sam’s hands. He ripped it with his teeth and handed it to Sam.

“Well, that’s just cheating,” Sam muttered.

“Not when you have a line,” he reminded him, moving his hand towards the other side of the bar. “I’ll get the drinks, you set the glasses in line,” he said and Sam followed.

Forty five minutes later, they could actually fall back and rest. Pietro was mopping the table when Sam started to notice just how young Pietro actually was.

“How old are you, man?” Sam shot, almost like he didn’t have any brain-to-mouth filter.

Pietro sighed at the question. “What makes you ask that?” Pietro said, throwing the mop in the table.

“Answering a question with another question, are we?” Sam said, smiling. He walked closer to where Pietro was and spoke again, “I don’t mean to touch any buttons, it’s just that you look young, man, that’s all,” he finished.

Pietro sighed again, before replying, “It’s not a big deal, it’s just that usually when people know they tell me to go back home, to high school and stuff, and I need the money, you know?” he explained, shrugging. “I’m 17, but my dad is kind of shit and doesn’t help my mom at all, so I need to help her get all of us by,” he told him, going back to the cleaning. Sam looked him over and nodded. The funny white hair was clearly dyed, but maybe it was Pietro’s way of saying he wanted to grow up quickly. The young man turned to Sam when he realized he was looking and then gave him a small smile.

“That’s nothing but worthy of respect, Pietro,” he said, patting his shoulder. Pietro nodded slowly and then someone cleared their throat behind Sam’s back. Sam turned in a flash and found his boss’-nephew. “Hey, man,” Sam said, sounding too casual.

“Peggy told me you had a bit of trouble earlier tonight, are you okay?” Riley asked, moving past him to the back table to grab his ID pin.

Sam thought he’d seem too nosey if he asked where he had been. “Yeah, Pietro helped me,” he said.

“Don’t let Pietro near the alcohol too much, okay? We don’t need any trouble; it’s already kind of illegal he works here in the first place,” Riley said, putting the pin on. Behind his shoulder, Pietro was rolling his eyes.

“It’s all good, don’t worry,” Sam eased.

Riley grabbed a notepad and a pen. “Good luck the rest of the night,” he said, turning to leave.

“Riley, wait,” Sam called. Riley turned just outside the bar, “What time do you think I can take off?”

“Why?” Riley wondered.

“Uhm, I have a thing, that, uhm I need to do,” he vaguely answered.

“Which is?” Riley drew out.

“Do I have to say it?” Sam asked.

“If you want me to let you go earlier, maybe,” Riley replied, as if it was obvious.

“But you’re not actually my boss,” Sam half-joked, half-questioned.

“Except that I kinda am,” Riley stated. Sam’s smile dropped a fraction.

“Really?” Sam shot.

“What?” Riley wondered. “I—I thought my uncle told you clearly—,”

“Yeah, but _he_ ’s my boss,” Sam cut.

“Yes, but when he’s not around—,”

“You are,” Sam realized. Riley was looking at him as if he had gone crazy. “ _Damn_ ,” he cursed.

“Are you okay?” Riley inquired. Sam moved his hand in the air.

“I just— I have Call of Duty marathons, my friends wanted to know at what time I’ll get there,” he finally explained.

“Seriously?” Riley drew one eyebrow up.

“Well, I’m a simple guy, you know how it is,” Sam shrugged.

“Actually, I don’t, I’ve never played COD,” Riley revealed. Sam shot his eyes open.

“You’re joking,” he expressed, quietly. Riley shook his head slowly. “I feel offended on behalf of Infinity Ward,” Sam said, putting a hand over his chest. “We’re fixing that later.”

“What?” Riley asked, amused.

“When we’re done, you’ll join me in Call of Duty Saturday marathon; I’m telling Bucky right now—,” he said, typing on his phone.

“Sam,” Riley called, cracking.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you wanna come?” he asked then, like a child asking for someone to play with him.

Riley chuckled. “Uhm, I mean, it’s probably embarrassing I haven’t played it, right,” he stated, with an asking tone.

“Exactly, I’m doing you a favor. Let me help you help yourself,” Sam said while Riley shook his head, smiling.

“Fine, but get back to work first,” Riley instructed as he took off.

And if Bucky has any comments later that night, asking your boss to come to your apartment to play with your roommates does not count as asking out, at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is the fuel of a writer's engine <3.


End file.
